Dum Spiro Spero
by SarcasticEnigma
Summary: ON HIATUS! Gnaea had once believed she would be Glaber's wife. Embittered, she now seeks to help Spartacus rise in rank of her father's ludus to slight her former lover. But can she keep herself from falling in love with the Thracian? GlaberOC, hints of SpartacusOC R&R!
1. Chapter 1: The House of Batiatus

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Spartacus: Blood and Sand_ or any of its characters. I do own Gnaea and a few other little characters I might be throwing in. Gnaea's name is just the feminine form of Batiatus, whose full name was Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Batiatus. The title _Dum Spiro Spero_ is Latin for "While I breathe, I hope".

This takes place during episodes one, _The Red Serpent_, and two, _Sacramentum Gladiatorum_.

_**Dum Spiro Spero**_

**Chapter 1: The House of Batiatus**

Gnaea Cornelia Lentula Batiatus, the young and only daughter of _ludus_ owner Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Batiatus, sighed. Living in a _ludus_, a gladiatorial training school, had been interesting enough as a child. Watching the men train against one another, or die even, had taught her a lot. Excited her even. As she grew older, however, watching countless senseless murders sickened her. Still, despite her hatred of the murders that came with gladiators, she was required to attend all the fights whenever the newest recruits, slaves, were introduced to the way of life in her home. But that didn't mean she watched, and today was a perfect example of that. As the sounds of shouting and swords clashing in the air, she lounged on a chair inside, drinking wine.

"Daughter," her father called to her, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"Yes, Father?" she replied obediently.

"What do you think? Should he live?" He turned his back on her, looking back into the arena and, sighing, she begrudgingly rose to her feet.

Moving to her father's side, she looked down into the small training arena and saw one new recruit dead and Crixus holding another down, a training sword at his throat. She was not stupid, not as much as her father seemed to think. She knew who this fierce man beneath Crixus was: Spartacus. His name had been whispered since the day of his arrival. And she also knew that he was important to whatever plan her father and step-mother had concocted. But it was not concern for their plans that softened her heart to Spartacus, not them at all. It was purely him, and the anguish she saw in him, that compelled her to spare him.

"One such as him is a rare find, a gift. To kill him would be a waste," she whispered to her father. "Let him live and prove his worth. Let the Gods decide his fate." Batiatus nodded and called to Crixus, shaking his head.

"Continue training," he ordered.

"He tries to kill your best man, and yet you let him live?" her step-mother, Lucretia, questioned incredulously.

"Glaber visits tomorrow." Gnaea froze and discreetly clenched a fist, holding her breath to keep from shouting. "His intention toward the Thracian may include blood. Until his patronage is secure, I intend to keep it warm and flowing." The smirk on her father's face did nothing to sooth her worries as he drank his wine.

"_Legatus_ Glaber? You did not tell me he was coming here." Eyes forward, staring into nothing, she cringed slightly as her father petted her head as if she were a dog.

"Forgive me, dear one," he apologized, kissing the crown of her head. Lucretia rolled her eyes, something that did not go unnoticed by Gnaea. "I know you detest the man, though I cannot fathom why. Glaber is exactly what we need."

"No. _You_ need him. I care nothing for that man," she stated firmly, moving out of her father's grasp, "and want nothing to do with him or whatever it is you might seek of him."

"Calm yourself, darling," he chided, kissing the brow of her head. "I think I've just the gift to lift your spirits. Your council has been wise—"

"It was not wisdom that moved my tongue, only a feeling and your request," she interjected and quickly bowed her head at her father's scowl. "Apologies, Father."

"Accepted," he replied, albeit he didn't sound forgiving of her attitude at the least. "Your gift, dearest, is Spartacus himself." Eyes wide, Gnaea stared at her father in shock as he laughed joyously. As he pulled her close, kissing her cheek and hugging her, she saw her stepmother's eyes wide and burning with rage over his shoulder. "The Thracian is yours and, as yours, it is your duty to see that his bloodlust is quenched…until we need it unleashed. Understood?" he asked, holding her chin between his fingers. She understood all too well what he meant.

"Yes, Father," she begrudgingly replied. "Gratitude, for your tremendous gift." Curtseying out of respect, Gnaea quickly turned and left the viewing balcony.

As she stormed back to her room, she could hear her father cursing the heat. He claimed it was enough to boil the tongue from one's head. Perhaps if he hadn't spent all his money on one man, perhaps if he were not in such deep debt, he would have some left over to purchase cold water for them. And now, in his infinite wisdom, he had gifted her unto the burden of the slave that was draining their home dry. Closing the door to her room, she shut her eyes and sighed. Going to her basin, she washed her face, chest and arms with warm water and stared into her reflection. The only good thing her father had done in recent days was not sell her to Lividius in exchange for clearing the debts he owed.

The night was long and hard, filled with nightmares. The most horrific stayed with her throughout the day. She dreamed of herself in the gladiator's area, in the Coliseum of Rome herself. She had been surrounded by masked warriors, circling her until they charged at her. And raped her and, finally, killed her. She awoke with a shout, sweating and panting heavily in her bed. Shaking, she looked around her quarters and breathed a sigh of relief. She was in the _ludus_ and she was safe, for the moment at least. Terrified, and feeling foolish for fearing a dream, Gnaea left her room to walk and clear her head.

The night air was soothing and cool, enough to make her wrap her arms around herself, but that was perfect. The cold helped remind her that she was alive and safe, but it did nothing to erase the memory of her dreams. One face in particular stood out: Gaius Claudius Glaber, a Roman praetor and _legatus_. He was a prime example of what all Roman men aspired to be, and what all women craved to call their own. Gnaea, herself, was one of those women. When she had first met Glaber, it had foolishly been love at first sight for her. And she had thought it was so for him as well but, sadly, she learned the hard way that men are not always as dedicated as women.

"Late is the hour, _domina_," a deep voice spoke behind her. Whipping around, Gnaea calmed her heart at the sight of Doctore.

"Oenomaus," she breathed, calling him by his real name, "you startled me," she stated, only slightly scolding him.

"Apologies but, I am curious, what keeps you from your bed this evening?" Oenomaus was concerned, as he had always been.

From the moment she had been born, her father had charged many men with her protection. First was Ashur, but his injuries made him obsolete. Then came Barca but as his title grew, his ego had as well and he saw fit to asked to be relieved of his duties. Gannicus was the last and he was a man Gnaea preferred not to dwell on, but like Glaber. Oenomaus, since he battle with the Shadow, had been the last to be named as her protector. Even when other gladiators had been charged to look after her, Oenomaus had always been the one she turned to. Perhaps it was because, unlike the other gladiators, he had a wife, Melitta, in the _ludus_. Melitta, another person she preferred not to let her thoughts linger on. On the sand, he was fierce and harsh, as any gladiator should be, but in private he was just a man. He was a friend, one of her only friends, and she cherished him deeply. Smiling, she allowed him to direct her back towards her room. Ever the vigilant guardian.

"My dreams."

"They have returned?" Shaking her head, Gnaea pushed the memories of her previous nightmares away.

"No. No, this was new. I was…" Pausing, she was unsure of whether or not she should tell him. There was always the chance that Oenomaus would tell her father and that was a mess she simply didn't need. Then again, the other part of her mind whisper, Oenomaus never spoke to father of the nightmares. Or, if he did, father simply hadn't confronted her about them.

"_Domina_?" His voice shook her from her thoughts.

"Pardon me. I was lost in thought," she told him with a sheepish smile. "In this dream, I saw myself…being killed." Oenomaus stopped walking and she slowly turned to face him. "It was a dream, nothing more," she assured him.

"It must have been more than that to wake you from your sleep. I remember a time when not even the rainstorms could stir you. But it seems they have gone, and taken your nerve with them." She stared up at him, amused by his reminiscing. Unlike most people, who would have been insulted by his slighting her, Gnaea knew that Oenomaus spoke only the truth. She preferred to hear the truth, even if it upset her, rather than hear lies. "So tell me the truth, Little Renata," he began, smiling down at her, "what was your dream?"

"I love to hear you call me that. If only father had abided mother's dying wish and named me as such, I could hear it all the time," she mused to herself, thinking back on her mother, Octavia, who died giving birth to her. Instead of granting his first wife's last wish, he named his daughter after himself. Oenomaus's subtle clearing of his throat brought her out of the painful thoughts and she confessed her dream to him. As they stood before the entrance of her room, he crossed his arms and sighed.

"I have had dreams. I have had nightmares," he confessed. "But I have conquered my nightmares because of my dreams. You are strong, your mother's daughter, and you will do the same. _You_ are the heir of this _ludus_, surrounded by the best gladiators in all of Capua, each would lay their life down for _you_."

"Because they are under orders to do so, not because they care," she pointed out.

"They do not need to care. All they need to know is that you are their _domina_, and you are to be respected and protected…or to the Gods with them. Goodnight. Sleep," he ordered gently, "and, if I catch you near the barracks again…" He let his threat linger as he left her alone in the hallway. Gnaea swallowed, thinking on what he said.

If an enemy ever attacked these walls, the gladiators would be required to protect everyone alongside the guards. Loyal soldiers were either scared of their master, or loved them unconditionally. She doubted any gladiator in the _ludus_ would lay his life down for hers, especially the newest batch. If they wanted to survivor, they would follow Crixus, their Champion. Crixus was loyal to her stepmother, who wouldn't mind seeing Gnaea dead in the least, and with Crixus' loyalty to Lucretia, the rest of the gladiators were to her as well because they were loyal to Crixus and him alone. Still, as she crawled back into bed, she wondered if it was better to be feared or loved by the gladiators.

* * *

"You really shouldn't have gone to the trouble, Lucretia. These _common_ dishes leave my stomach unsettled."

Gnaea looked over her shoulder and smirked at her stepmother's fallen face from the balcony. Ilithyia, spoiled and selfish daughter of Senator Albinius, was visiting today and she was very hard to please. As unpleasant as it was to see Glaber in her home, Gnaea seethed with hatred that Ilithyia freely roamed her halls. Gnaea didn't understand why the twit didn't go back to Rome if she was so bored with Capua. Still, Gnaea was ordered, more or less, to play nice with Ilithyia, who was so stupid and impressionable that Lucretia, seeing potential advancement, took the bitch under her wing. Her intent, Gnaea knew, was to introduce her to all the sensual, carnal pleasures of the _ludus_. She knew this because Lucretia had tried to do the same with her once and failed miserably.

"Some wine then, perhaps, while we wait for your husband?" Lucretia offered, hoping to appease the younger woman.

"Cestian?" she asked excitedly.

"…No," she hesitated to reply and quickly added, "but something of equal taste." Cringing, Ilithyia disappointedly demanded for water instead.

Inhaling sharply, Gnaea looked back down at the training gladiators, intent on ignoring the senator's brat invading her home. Ilithyia was nothing more than a spoiled little whore, who stole her lover's heart. Unknowingly, yes, but that did not change that Gnaea would never be a friend to Ilithyia, despite how hard she tried. Feeling the cool wind, she relaxed and smiled, leaning against the balcony. Her gaze flitted to and fro, from pair to pair, until she spotted Oenomaus. The elder man nodded briefly to her and she returned the gesture, with a small smile.

That was when she was Spartacus speaking when another new gladiator – Varro, she believed his name was – one she heard sold himself into this life to provide for his family. Honorable, except for the fact that he was the reason his family was in debt. Gambling, it seemed, was the fair haired slave's vice. One man's vice, her father once told her, was another man opportunity. The speaking pair looked up at her and she froze, staring at them, wondering what they could possibly be saying. Then Spartacus looked at Oenomaus, then back to her. Gnaea's face became blank and hard as stone, if only to not show her embarrassment. His opinion was obvious. When Ilithyia entered the balcony, greeting Gnaea as a friend with an enthusiastic tug of her arm, she wasted no time in leaving, as politely and quickly as possible, and hurried back toward her rooms.

She did not expect to see Glaber on her way, however. He was as handsome as ever, though she preferred him in simple clothes compared to his armor and cloak. A strong Roman commander, whose skills and cunning were just as strong, if not stronger, in the bedroom as they were on the battlefield. She remembered many a nights she would visit him in his home, make passionate love, and then lay satiated, whispering of war and their future, of how he hoped to see her stomach round with a child. Lies, all of it. As her father spoke to him, pouring some wine for himself, Glaber spotted Gnaea and stared. He drank her in as she did him, until she realized that she was being weak. That she was showing him she still cared when she felt nothing but hatred for the man that married another for political advancement. With a frown, she glared at him and turned away from him, storming out of his sight.

"Come, we leave for Rome," she heard Glaber behind her.

"So soon?" Lucretia quietly pondered. The sooner the better, Gnaea thought bitterly.

Hearing a disturbance, she paused on her journey to her room and looked out a window. It was Spartacus again. He was crawling towards something, even as the guards beat him. Another new recruit was injured, but Spartacus seemed not to care. Something else held his focus, dangerously so. Curious. Fueled by her anger and determined, she changed her path towards the cages where the gladiators were kept. On her way in, however, her father bumped into her, and held her steadfast as she tried to break away.

"What are you doing down here? You know it is forbidden!" he growled, shaking her.

"Forgive me, Father! I…" she hesitated, a little frightened and trying to think on her feet. That was when Spartacus came to mind, and the beating he received. "I only wished to check on Spartacus. For your well-being, of course. We cannot afford to lose any more than we already have."

"My well-being, I'm certain. As clever and cunning as a snake, you are," he complimented, affectionately tapping her chin. "Just like your mother," he added, not believing her at all, as he released her arms. "Oh, dear one. You wish to help me? Come with me," he told her, an affectionate arm around her shoulders as he kissed the top of her head. "I need you to put that mind of yours to use."

"Use in what?"

"Spartacus." Her father pressed something into her hand and, upon looking at the bit of cloth, she began to ask a question. "All shall be revealed, dearest. Patience," he chided. Confused, she allowed her father to pull her into his office. She thought to question him as he sat behind his desk but was unable as the doors opened. Led by two guards, chained at his wrists and ankles, Spartacus entered. Filthy and stained in blood, he was quite a sight to behold. The guards stood him on the other side of the desk and soon left him alone with the two Romans. Batiatus stared down the Thracian as he asked, "Why are you here? In this place? Under _my_ hospitality? Do you know why?"

"Because I trusted in the honor of a Roman."

"You are here because of my grandfather. He built this _ludus_. He believed that no man was without worth. That even the most vile among us could rise to honor and glory. He instilled these beliefs in my father who, in turn, passed them onto me. And I pass them onto my daughter." Batiatus rose to his feet, a gentle hand on Gnaea's shoulder as he walks around to face Spartacus. "I am a _lanista_, like my forefathers, a trainer of gladiators. I see things in men that they themselves have lost. A small spark, an ember. I give it breath, tender, till it ignites in the arena."

"I burn for no cause but my own."

"And what might that be? Money? You've cost me a lot on that front." With a scoff and sigh, he returned to his desk. "No, not so base a cause for this one. Position, power?" he listed curiously. "Love? You have a woman, Thracian?" It was obvious by the look in his eyes as soon as her father mentioned the word love.

"I have a wife," he answered ferociously.

"And do you love her? Of course you do. I can see it in the eye, the tensing of the jaw." Almost bored, Batiatus leaned against his desk. Gnaea still stood next to his chair, patient, and staring at the Thracian. "What might be the name of this delicate flower?"

Spartacus paused, hesitating before answering, "Sura."

"Where is she?"

"He took her, when he came for me."

"_Legatus_ Glaber, he has her?"

"He sold her to a Syrian." Hands behind her back, Gnaea made a fist at the mention of his name.

"Well then, how do you know she still lives?"

"How do you know the heart beats beneath your chest?" That made her smile a bit. So the Thracian was a romantic? Interesting.

"Most days, I don't. I'm just a simple Roman trying to make his way against the whim of the Gods," her father mockingly retorted, "the politicians, the miscreants," he sneered, walking to the window. "So often you can't tell one from the other that you…oh, you are the most dangerous of animals. Beast born of the heart. What would you do to hold your wife again? To feel the warmth of her skin? To taste her lips? Would you kill?"

With a quick nod, he didn't hesitate to answer, "Whoever stood between us."

"How many men? A hundred, a thousand?"

"I would kill them all."

"Then do it in the arena!" he demanded, walking back to stand toe-to-toe with Spartacus. "Fight for me! And the honor of my forefathers! Prove yourself! Climb to the pinnacle, gain your freedom! _And_ that of the woman you've lost."

"I did not _lose_ her. She was _taken_ from me."

"A man must accept his fate or be destroyed by it. Pass the final test tonight, with honor and servitude. Call me _dominus_ and I will help to reunite you!" When he didn't answer, Batiatus sighed and moved around him. "The choice is yours," he called over his shoulder, leaving Gnaea and Spartacus to speak alone. Any other man might have been afraid to leave his daughter alone with an unpredictable gladiator, but not Batiatus. He knew, by pure instinct, that Spartacus would not harm Gnaea; the way he spoke about his wife, it was clear that this man would never harm a woman.

"I grew up in this _ludus_," Gnaea stated calmly, moving around the desk to lean against it. "I have seen more blood split and death and decay than most soldiers." She sighed and stared Spartacus in the eye. "But I am sickened by bloodshed and moved to mercy. My father may not always be a man of his word, but I am. You can trust me, I swear on my life."

"Your life is nothing to me."

"But it is something to _Legatus _Glaber." This caused Spartacus' gaze to snap to her, interest clearly caught. She couldn't help but smile at him, amused, as she relaxed. Calmly, she stared him down and softened. "He was like you once, and _I_ was _his_ Sura," she confessed wistfully. "I may not hold the title of wife, but he loves me yet."

"And do you love him?" Gnaea stared at him, jaw tense.

"…I think fondly of him from time to time," she admitted, "but I do not love him. Not anymore. I do not love those that betray me."

"Do you love those that betray _others_ for you?"

She laughed boisterously, hand to her chest. "You think know us so well! When, really, you know nothing at all." Taking a calming breath, she walked towards him. "My father has assigned you as my personal slave. When you are not training, you will be with me. You will attend to my every need. Take this as a favor and know that, when the time comes, I will repay you for your servitude."

"And why would I place my fate in the hands of _another_ Roman?"

"Because of what they hold." Daring to get closer, she holds up the bit of cloth her father had given her. His eyes fix on the cloth, mouth parting as he stared at it. "Your wife's?" Spartacus continued to stare at the cloth, brokenhearted. Taking pity on him, she walked even closer, chest to chest with him, and sighed as she tied it around his arm. "I will only ask once and I do not beg. Not for my father, not for Glaber and, certainly, not for you, gladiator. Pass the test. Pass it, and you will be that much closer to that which you seek. If my father fails and he does not deliver your wife, then my life is forfeit. This I swear to you, gladiator."

"You would kill yourself," he questioned, completely perplexed, "for Sura?"

"I would kill myself for anyone if it would give Glaber just a _fraction_ of the pain he has caused me." Her jaw tensed once more and she looked at the ground.

"No man who betrays the woman he loves is worth your life." Shaking her head, she looked up at him with a sad smile.

"You don't understand. I had no reason or purpose to live until I met him. And I saw nothing beyond him. He was my world. And then, in an instance, my world was destroyed. My purpose, gone," she stressed, trying to make him understand. If anyone could, it would be him. "Helping you slight him, it gives me purpose again. I help you find your world, and you help me find peace…one way or another," she concluded, leaving the option to linger in his mind. "Good night, gladiator." That night, Spartacus passed the test, nearly killed Crixus, and called her father _dominus_. Branded forever, part of the brotherhood, she only hoped she could fulfill her promise to the man.


	2. Chapter 2: Legends of the Pit

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Spartacus: Blood and Sand_ or any of its characters. I do own Gnaea and a few other little characters I might be throwing in. Gnaea's name is just the feminine form of Batiatus, whose full name was Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Batiatus. The title _Dum Spiro Spero_ is Latin for "While I breathe, I hope".

This takes place during episodes three, _Legends_, and four, _The Thing in the Pit_.

**Chapter 2: Legends of the Pit**

Gnaea watched from above. Once more, Spartacus was on his back as Oenomaus lectured him. It was true that Spartacus was rash, he didn't really think things through, but he was a good fighter nonetheless. Sighing, she overheard Barca and Crixus slighting the Thracian. Study, Train, Bleed: these were Oenomaus's lessons. If gladiators followed these rules, they would rise to be legend. Those lessons held true for her as well. She studied in languages, reading, and writing. She trained her mind and even her body, with Oenomaus and another gladiator's secret help, to be able to defend herself. And she bled. She bled more times than she could count.

The Vulcanalia, a celebration of the Vulcan, God of beneficial and hindering fire, approached and that was the event on everyone's mind. It consisted of numerous games and offerings to Vulcan. This year, her father saw fit to pledge twenty of his men, who would fight at dawn, eight pairs to follow, and then he would present his _primus_, who would meet in the arena for a fight to the death. Crixus, Gnaea knew, would be the _primus_ as he always had been since Gannicus's fall. Her father really did fail when it came to being unpredictable. The second, who knew? She did not believe it to be Barca as he was second to Crixus and her father would never risk losing one of his two best fighters. And what did it matter? Against Crixus, there was no victory. At the moment, she had a splitting headache. Listening to her father bitch and moan about how the Magistrate could not attend their personal celebration had really started to try her nerves.

To calm herself, Gnaea sent a guard to summon Spartacus to her. She had about what had happened today and knew that she needed to speak with the Thracian. As soon as he entered, she nodded for the guard to leave her alone with him. After a moment's hesitation, he did so and closed the door behind him. The second he was gone, a smile greeted Spartacus as she walked towards him, pleasant, until she was close enough to smell him. Frowning, she covered her nose and mouth in disgust.

"By the Gods!" She took a few steps back and stared at him. Clearly, he had already bathed. He just hadn't bathed thoroughly. Then again, she supposed gladiators were not given the proper soaps to rid the body of the smell of shit.

"Forgive me, _domina_." Sighing, she relaxed and shook her head at him.

"Apologies are not required, gladiator. A firm cleaning, however, is." Not wanting to be any closer to his smell, she called for a servant. When the younger girl entered, she quickly left under orders to bring her _domina_ warm water and soaps. "Stand away from the balcony. I do not need that stench circling my quarters."

Looking around the room, offended by his new setting and her manner, he pointedly asked, "Why am I here?"

Put off by his tone, she snapped, "Did you smack your head against your brother's one too many times? Or has Apollo's sun made you forget our bargain?"

Gritting his teeth, Spartacus sighed. "No, _domina_." See his tense stature, Gnaea took a deep breath and quickly released it.

"If I seem harsh, I apologize. The sun shortens my temper with each passing day. This drought is unbearable." Pouring water – warm, unfortunately – into two cups, she turned to pass him one. He accepted, clearly confused, and took a sip with her. "You look surprised. Why?"

"I am a slave."

"You are a gladiator," she corrected.

"Masters make no apologies to or share drink with their slaves," he pointed out.

Gnaea smiled shortly. "This master does." Spartacus nodded, understanding her meaning perfectly, and took a sip. Gnaea was trying so very hard to make him realize that she wasn't like Glaber, her father and stepmother, or any other Roman he had met. Slowly but surely, it was working.

"May I make an inquiry then?"

"Of course!" she replied, happily.

"I have seen you gaze upon Doctore, and seen the gaze you receive in return." Gnaea paled slightly.

"You think Doctore shares my bed?" Spartacus decidedly didn't answer, immediately knowing that he was wrong just by the tone of her voice. "Doctore is my friend and has been my guardian for some time. Where past protectors failed, he succeeded and earned my upmost respect. He is my friend and my protector, nothing more." At her firm tone, Spartacus nodded his understanding. Decidedly letting the subject drop, Gnaea broached a new subject, "You spoke to my father earlier, I was told."

"Your father had word of my wife but…" The young woman sighed and nodded. She already knew what the problem was with obtaining Sura. It wasn't so simple as just paying for her when her family was in debt, and Spartacus had yet to make any money in the arena.

"This _ludus_ costs a fortune and your presence, while causing quite a stir, does not help matters." She was referring to, of course, his costly outbursts of rage which left equipment in need of replacement and gladiators in need of medicine. Expensive medicine.

"He told me—"

"That you are costly. And that he is _dominus_, not you. He reminded you of your place. As did Doctore." With a small smirk, she ordered the servant who knocked on her door to enter. The slave set up the warm water and array of soaps on a table and stood by, waiting to be ordered. Gnaea, however, told the girl to leave and that she would take care of Spartacus herself. "Sit," she ordered and he moved to sit on the floor, but she shook her head. "No. Sit here." Taking him gently by his arm, she sat him in the chair by her vanity table.

"_Domina_—"

"Do not argue. Just sit," she ordered as he tried to stand from her chair. Their situation, he knew, was improper. "Out there, you are a gladiator. In here, I hope you to be a friend to me. And I to you." Spartacus observed a moment before slowly nodding and sitting down. Smiling, she took up the wet rag and began to hand bathe him properly, starting with his shoulders. "I hope you learned your lesson. I do not wish to have to do this again."

"I did not ask you to do this."

"Again, you do not understand," she sighed. "It is a worldly recognized fact that a woman who bathes a man is either a slave to that man or his wife. As I am neither, I hope you see the position I place myself in." Silent as ever, he nodded his understanding. If someone were to walk in, both of them would be in a great deal of trouble. "Wife, slave. Personally, I see no difference between the two," she mused absently.

"A wife is not a slave."

"To anyone but her husband and his desires."

"Did you Glaber treat you as such?" Coldly, she moved to his front and slapped him. Seething, she stares down at him while he, unfazed and unharmed, simply looked at her. Unlike before, he did not ask for forgiveness because he didn't believe he was wrong. A fact that did not escape Gnaea.

"A friend to me you may become, but you will _never_ speak of Glaber to me. Ever! Do you understand?"

He nodded, "Yes."

"Good." With a deep breath, she started bathing him again. "To answer your question…I did not know it then, but I was nothing but an object to him. I gave him every part me – mind, body, soul – and, in return, I received nothing but false promises and a broken heart. So, my friend," she continued pointedly, "do not speak to me of him."

"You are a kind, gentle woman, Gnaea." His use of her real name and not her title caught her off guard and she paused in her task to look at him. "For all the ills he committed against you, know that you are stronger for it."

"You used my name." She smiled, dazed, and laughed a little. "I think that, when you are with me, that is acceptable…Spartacus."

"That is not my name."

"It is now," she pointed out. "Perhaps, someday, when you trust me as I trust you, you will tell me _your_ name."

"Perhaps," he said. Amused, she smiled at him and continued to clean him, listening to him tell stories of his homeland, at her request.

* * *

"Friends, old and new, gratitude for honoring the story of _ludus_ of Batiatus with your presence on this eve. Tomorrow's Vulcanalia promises many glories in the arena. But, tonight, may I present you with the finest gladiators in all of the Republic." Gnaea sipped her wine as the twenty chosen gladiators walked out. The men hummed, observing the wares, impressed, whilst the women swooned. Bored, Gnaea rolled her eyes. This party was just the same as the others: a chance for her father to show off Crixus, and her stepmother to lure Ilithyia into her web. "Look, touch, feel the quality of the stalk. Place orders for any of the men that you covet. Come! Don't be bashful! They won't bite! And, if they do…a ten percent discount." The crowd immediately goes to Spartacus, fascinated by him and his earlier victories.

"I _tremble_ to see him again at the arena," Ilithyia spoke, beside her, eyeing Crixus hungrily. Annoyed, Gnaea smiled politely and moved away. She circled the room and managed to get to Spartacus in time to see Varro follow her stepmother and Ilithyia out of the room.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Ilithyia is bearing herself right now," she commented offhandedly, after explaining what was happening to the concerned Thracian. "She really is dimwitted enough to fall right into a scandal."

"You look well, _domina_," he commented lightly. Surprised, she thanked him.

"The same to you. I'm glad to see my work plays to your benefit," she whispered to him, referring to her earlier bathing. "The crowd hardly cares for Crixus. All eyes are on you." Spartacus didn't seem to care at all, to which she sighed. He should have been pleased, she thought. She opened her mouth to speak, to explain this fact, when Varro returned, sweaty and panting. "You look sufficiently worn out," she commented. Briefly meeting hers and Spartacus' eyes, Varro looked at the floor. It was clear to her that he was shamed and embarrassed. Leaning as close to him as propriety would allow, she whispered, "I am sorry you had to embarrass yourself in such a manner."

Varro looked confused that she was speaking to him but only for a moment because he looked to Spartacus at that moment. "I overhead Batiatus and Doctore in conference. The _primus_ their intent. The Sardinian is to face Crixus." The Sardinian being Hamilcar, she remembered.

"The news does not balance my cause."

Varro stared at him and warned, "Whatever your thoughts, cast them out."

"I agree," Gnaea added softly. "The public humiliation of my father may mean nothing to you, but it does to me. And to these people."

"Good citizens!" her father called out, calling all attention in the room to him. Moving away from Spartacus and Varro, she joined her stepmother beside her father. "You have enjoyed my food, my wine, and the aphrodisiac presence of my beautiful wife and daughter." As Lucretia did, Gnaea bowed her head to the guests. However, the difference was that the smile she bore to them was false, something Spartacus caught and smirked at. "Now marvel at my _primus_, Crixus! Champion of Capua, will stride across the sand and face—" His speech was cut off as Spartacus suddenly charged at Crixus and began to fight him.

"SPARTACUS!" Oenomaus roared.

"No, let them fight!" Ilithyia squealed and the two men fought some more until their fellow gladiators managed to restrain them.

"ENOUGH!" Batiatus shouted. Trying to please the crowd, he turned jovially to them and smiled. "Ha! See their hatred falling beyond control, huh? This was merely a taste! Tomorrow, they will settle this grudge in the arena!" Cheers filled the room but Gnaea looked worriedly between the two gladiators. "Crixus, the undefeated! Spartacus, the _dog_ who defies death! A fight for the ages! Glory to Capua! Glory to Rome!"

"To Rome!"

* * *

"Tell me," Gnaea began, pacing as Spartacus stood before her in her chambers, "as you lunged at Crixus, what was going through your head?" Silence. He stood still as stone, not even looking at her. "Nothing. Nothing but petty revenge," she answered for him. "Do you realize what you have done?" Again, silence and she sighed. "Crixus has been waiting for an opportunity to kill you and you have given it to him. You have offered yourself up like a lamb to the slaughter, and that is _exactly_ what you will be!"

Almost desperate, she marched to stand in front him. Looking up, she explained as calmly as possible, "You are not meant for this! And what will happen to your wife when you are dead, hmm?" His gaze snapped from the wall behind her to hers in an instant. "You did not think of her when you lunged at him, did you?" She sighed, disappointed, "I pray the Gods bring you fortune, for no one else will." Pulling him down, she kissed his forehead, in an almost motherly fashion, and quickly left her room. "Take him back to the barracks," she ordered the guard and returned to the party to bid her farewells to the guests with her father.

* * *

The next day, Gnaea joined her family at the Capua arena. The crowd cheered, already drinking and some even fucking in the stands. Indeed, this was nothing new. Whenever gladiators came to fight, drunken displays were normal and Gnaea was used to it. After years of observing, she ignored the scandalous displays of the common public. She sat with her family, Ilithyia, the Magistrate and his family, waiting patiently for Spartacus' fight until the horn finally sounded. Leaving his seat, her father stepped to the balcony and the crowd cheered loudly, knowing exactly what was to come.

"Enter Thrace!" her father shouted. Looking down, Gnaea saw a side gate lift and Spartacus entered. "Behold Spartacus!" The crowd cheered, but only because they were excited for bloodshed, as her father told an exaggerated tale of Spartacus, slighting his rival Solonius at the same time, before introducing Crixus. It was amazing to her how her father always managed to orate so eloquently while being snide to an opponent all at once. Out of the corner of her ear, she heard Ilithyia comment lustfully about Crixus. That was what her _legatus_ chose over her? She rolled her eyes and continued to listen to her father. However, before he could finish, Spartacus attacked.

"Is that all the Thracian is capable of?" Ilithyia commented in boredom. "After what he did to Solonius' men, I had hoped for more."

"Perhaps you should pay more attention to skill than bloodshed," Gnaea returned calmly, not even sparing the whore a glance. As her father sat down beside her, he gave her a warning glare.

Crixus knocked Spartacus down and showed off for the crowd, reveling in their cheers. As her friend regained his footing, Crixus attacked once again. The fighting continued until Spartacus was once more on his back and Crixus kicked him. Gnaea winced at the blood that flew from his mouth. The crowd roared. One more attack and Crixus had his sword at Spartacus' throat. The crowd chanted "kill!" and Gnaea gripped the arms of her seat, waiting. Spartacus suddenly held up two fingers, a sign of surrender, and Gnaea sighed in relief.

"Spartacus fought well! Let him live to fight another day!" Batiatus shouted and the crowd booed but they didn't matter. Her father was pleased, proud almost.

"Sour bite to end the meal," the Magistrate commented, clearly just as displeased as the crowd.

"Apologies, but Spartacus was of some cost to me."

"You've already lost the crowd!" Gnaea knew that, inside, her father was embarrassed as the Magistrate stormed out.

"He lives? How disappointing," Ilithyia commented and left as well. Good riddance, Gnaea believed.

That night, Gnaea snuck into the gladiator's quarters with the help of her former gladiator-protector and her father's bookkeeper, Ashur, and tended to Spartacus' wounds. Ashur had been uncomfortable in aiding her until she threatened his manhood; that quickly helped her cause. Ashur also provided the proper medicines she needed and left, guarding the door for her. She did not speak to Spartacus and he did not speak to her. Her eyes told him more than she ever could have. She was disappointed in him while pleased that he lived all at once. She had been worried for him, more than she should have been. Gnaea, as she rose to leave, stopped as he grabbed her arm. She looked down at him as he looked up at her. His eyes said everything to her. Smiling softly, she nodded, whispered for him to sleep well, and went on her way.

* * *

As soon as word reached her that Spartacus was to be sent to The Pit, Gnaea rushed to her father. She argued with him for quite some time over sending Spartacus to that hell of earth, but he shouted and argued back. She continued to fight back until, for the first time, he hit her. Gnaea held her aching cheek, face flushed with embarrassment and shock as silence filled his office. She stood there, unable to move or speak, as turned his back on her to go to The Pit to arrange everything.

Over his shoulder, he informed her, "While fighting in the pit, Spartacus is no longer yours."

Later on, as Spartacus was leaving, Gnaea caught his eye and turned away, unable to face him – and also unable to speak with him in public anymore. She quickly left the viewing balcony and hurried inside to hide out in her room. When her father returned that night, she runs to meet him. The hour was late but she had been waiting up for him.

"Daughter," Batiatus greeted solemnly, in a foul mood.

"Father," she returned, obedient and waiting patiently for news.

"Spartacus has been victorious. He lives," he told her quietly. Gnara nodded, quietly sighing in relief. "Daughter, I apologize for…for what I did." Unable to look at him, she looked at the ground.

Nodding politely, she quietly replied, "All is forgiven, Father. I was out of line." Despite the fact that her words sounded sincere, they held almost no meaning. It took all her strength not to shake or tense, or even cringe, as he gently kissed her brow and told her to return to her rooms. Ever the obedient daughter, she returned as asked while her father left to go to sleep as well. It had been a long, torturous day for him.

At her room, she found Ashur waiting outside her door. Nodding to his _domina_, she reached inside the folds of her dress and gave him the mandrake root he inquired about earlier. At first, she refused him but, when he told her it was for the wounds Spartacus sustained in the pit, she more than happily retrieved the herb. After dismissing him, she went inside her room and opened the chest at the foot of her bed. Removing the dresses and shawls, she easily cast them aside and lovingly pulled out an ornate wooden box at the bottom. She held it to her chest for a moment, hesitating before quickly putting it back inside and covering it once more.

The next few nights were hell as, each time, Spartacus returned in worse condition than the night before. However, when her father returned injured from an assassination attempt, he informed her that Spartacus was hers once more. His time in The Pit was done. It was as shocking to her as it was relieving as it was well known to all that those who ventured into The Pit rarely returned alive. Spartacus winning even one match was a shock.

"See his wounds tended to and he will rejoin his brothers as soon as he is able," he told her. Nodding, she set out immediately to see to this task. As soon as she left her father's sight, she ran to the first servant she saw and ordered them to send medicine, food and water to Spartacus. Tomorrow, she would speak to him properly but, for the night of his victorious return, he deserved his rest.

Back in her room, she returned to the chest and repeated the same process as the night before. This time, however, she set the smaller chest on her bed and, kneeling before it with bated breath, she opened it. Inside were a few weapons: a small sword, a dagger and two knives the length of her forearm. She quickly strapped the dagger to her thigh and practiced with both the sword and the knives with ease. She was nowhere near as good as a gladiator but, if the time came, it was clear that she could handle herself well enough. When she finished killing her invisible enemies, sweating and heaving, she held her cheek where a bruise had set in.

"Never again," she vowed. Placing all weapons but the dagger back inside the chest, she snapped the lid shut. The top of the chest reads a name in crude carving: OLOLARA.


End file.
